


Lexical Gap

by orchidcactus



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-13
Updated: 2013-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-11 18:50:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orchidcactus/pseuds/orchidcactus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Humans have a saying for everything. The majority of them didn't translate well, and some of them broke down in ways that were borderline disturbing.</i> </p>
<p>ME2. Garrus/Shepard</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lexical Gap

Humans have a saying for everything. The majority of them didn't translate well, and some of them broke down in ways that were borderline disturbing. Most of the time Garrus just rolls with it.

Huh. When had he picked that one up?

Occasionally, it made things difficult. Take the last mission brief. Shepard had been giving orders and assignments in rapid-fire sentences. Garrus had heard _slick as snot_ before, so he had the privilege of looking around the room and taking in the expressions of the rest of her non-human crew. Got Mordin to stop muttering to himself and Thane had blinked twice. Samara had raised one doubtful eyebrow.

Grunt, though... Grunt had approved, with his usual _heh, heh, heh_. But later he'd come to Garrus and asked some questions about a different part of his battlemaster's speech.

Now Garrus lays on the warm ground, hands laced over his midsection, watching white clouds float by. Shade from a nearby tree filters the sun and the breeze that comes and goes makes the shadows move in a pleasant way. The insects on this planet— _go'damn bugs, ugly as sin,_ Zaeed had said—made an odd whirring sound with their wings. Sort of reminded him of summer on Palaven.

All things considered, it was... nice. Peaceful.

Shepard is stretched out similarly beside him, one arm bent behind her head as a pillow. Difference is, where he's content to watch the clouds and listen to the insects, her fingers drum a relentless beat on the chestplate of her armor.

"This _was_ your idea," he says, after listening to the sound for a solid three minutes. "A picnic."

"Uh-huh."

"Just relax, take a deep breath—" he demonstrates, inhaling and exhaling, not bothering to keep the smirk out of his voice—"and watch the clouds."

"Right."

His browplates furrow slightly. He knows Shepard likes to keep her voice neutral around him. But he's never told her she's not as good as she thinks she is.

Not that he abuses that knowledge—much. His girlfriend is an alien species that communicates with an array of baffling visual cues, so he thinks he's allowed to use her vocals to figure out what kind of tea she prefers. It would seem intrusive to use it otherwise. There's also the fact that she's smart and if he did it too often, she would figure him out. So, he saves the tactical advantage for times like this.

He can hear the worry. The stress. The need to be moving. Humans had a saying for situations like this, too.

_Desperate times call for desperate measures_.

He nods seriously.

"Could try those breathing exercises Samara and Thane have been teaching you."

Silence.

"How about I show you what Jack's been teaching me?" she asks, finally. He can hear the smile. He can definitely see the hand gesture.

He flares his mandibles. "Commander Shepard. One hundred percent class, one hundred percent of the time."

"You know it," she says. But then she lets a long sigh, and punches him lightly on the shoulder. "Sorry."

"Don't be." He reaches for the small pack laying on his opposite side, setting it between them. "Here."

He hears her armor creak, and then the seals on the pack. He focuses on the clouds. There's one right above him that looks a bit like an elcor. Or it would, if elcor had tails.

"Garrus?"

He hears the confusion and, unlike her, is able to keep his voice perfectly neutral.

"Yeah, Shepard?"

"This is... an MRE, some protein bars. It's food."

"It is."

"Why is there food?"

"You said it was going to be a picnic. Grunt did some research."

There's a stretch of silence.

The elcor-cloud has lost its tail, but now its legs are wrong and its face has a snout. Almost like a varren, maybe. But more round.

"I think Grunt was worried, actually," Garrus says. "What with being stuck on the ship while you're down here."

"Garrus..."

He squints at the cloud, then turns his head toward her.

She's up on one elbow, digging through the pack. As he watches, she quirks a corner of her mouth.

"You told him it was okay to pack frag grenades?"

He looks at the grenade she pulls out. Then up at her again. Scratches the scars on his mandible. Raises a browplate.

"Next time, I'll supervise."

She snorts. "Good plan."

As she sets the grenade down again, a far-off rumble of sound reaches them, followed by a tremor through the ground. She checks her omni-tool.

"First one. On time."

"Still have fifteen minutes before they blow the next."

"Told you this would be a picnic."

"Uh-huh," he looks pointedly at the ground where she had been laying. "And it was your idea to come down and relax until we needed to go in and mop things up. So..."

She nods, stretching out again. "Consider me convinced—"

"Smooth talker. Right. You like using that one."

She reaches out and takes his hand, squeezing it. They lay like that, watching the clouds, until she makes a sound that's half resignation and half exasperation.

"Garrus, he's up on the ship. With minimal supervision."

"Grunt? Yeah?"

"Did you by any chance explain slicker than snot?"


End file.
